My axillary ultra-sound this morning was perfect.
Huge thanks for the good luck and good vibes that are keeping me healthy.
I was thinking…
Since my ex-cancer took 44 years to appear, I’m not due for more until I’m at least 88.
How about I wait and worry then.
Three weeks ago today, Mark lost his job.
It was no laughing matter.
But, thanks to a whack of relevant AD quotes, we laughed a lot that day.
Often, it’s not what happens so much as how we frame it.
This weekend, I did a hard-core search for a healthy way to look at braggarts, bullies and poseurs.
Thanks to mulling, sharing and listening to you, I think I struck gold:
I laugh just thinking these terms.
Bring it on.
Life is short. And I’m the hard-earned new me.
So, why must I continue to let braggarts, bullies and poseurs get under my skin?
Really. I need to know why.
So I can stop.
I’m extremely grateful that we’re alive and healthy and happy.
Still, between the upheaval of Mark’s job juggling and health worries for myself and others, I’m feeling pretty run down.
Run down yet sleepless.
It could be worse.
I could actually look like this….
Back in December, I got pretty freaked out about a line of lumps along my right arm.
I fretted. I frenzied.
And celebrated big when I got the good news.
Two weeks ago, I had the long-awaited ultrasound and left to the words “I wouldn’t worry if I were you”.
And I didn’t.
Yesterday my oncologist gave me a cheery call. She’s ordered another look at a reactive lymph node.
Lucky me. More practice at trusting my body. More practice at not worrying.
Pretty soon, I’ll be a pro.
Let’s celebrate the power of creative expression — and the freedom to offend — Wednesday, February 23rd 8pm at the cozy, kitchy Raw Sugar Cafe at Censored Out Loud:
Join a motley crew of writers, actors, musicians (including Lisa Poushinsky, Nichole McGill, Jesse Dangerously, Megan Jerome, Jessica Ruano, Mike Essoudry) and nobodies like me as we celebrate Freedom To Read Week by belting out some scandalous — and not so scandalous — censored or challenged works.
Cover: $10 or pay what you can.
Proceeds to PEN Canada.
Hope to see you there.
Hooping, it turns out, is perfect post-breast-cancer-treatment therapy. Almost.
It challenges my co-ordination, balance and spatial awareness.
It entirely occupies my mind.
Its frantic, erratic arm movements sneak my damaged limb into places I thought I’d left behind.
It allows me to flail and fail without drawing the attention of the likewise intensely occupied others.
And gives me ample opportunity to tame my uber frustration reflex.
It’s brand new, so there’s no kicking myself for lost progress.
It’s great exercise.
And it’s my first class with Lucy in 10 years.
But last night I discovered the Almost.
Chemo’d chicks don’t spin.
Or at least they shouldn’t.
It’s easy to forget how disgusting chemo was.
Last night’s hoop-induced nausea was a vivid reminder.
Of how lucky I am to be healthy.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Andrée suggested I post my thoughts on how to have a happy marriage. So here they are:
Not much of a post, though, so I’ll add:
Find the right person.
Be the right person.
And be lucky.
Thank you, Mark, for being the right person.
For finding me.
For our silly and serious projects together.
For the freedom and interest that keeps us working and playing with fabulous friends.
For all we create. And will create.
For our beautiful life.
I love you.
(Happy Valentines Day.)
Three cheers for the six lovely ladies who made it,
the six who didn’t,
and to Betti for making this fabulous weekend happen.
Mr. Social Media hit the national TV screens again tonight.
What that means for your weekend at 46:21.
p.s. You can watch Mark’s Peace, Order and Googleable Government video, here.
I took a timeout from teleworking today to enjoy a walk with Phaedra.
As my ever-burgeoning buttocks bounced happily behind me, I wondered what tweaks to my daily habits might reverse that jiggling trend.
A young man caught up to me on the all-but-deserted pathway, “You’re going to think this is very forward of me, but I’m a personal trainer and…” bla, bla, bla.
The lengthy exchange was pleasant and professional and I returned to my walk feeling triumphant at having successfully deflected all compliments and steered clear of a pitch.
It was only as my mind was drawn back to my jiggling behind that I realized what I’d done.
How often do I nip opportunity in the bud?
Why do I put pride ahead of progress?
And, what’s the scoop on this Marvin guy? I wish I’d got his last name.
Twelve years ago last September, Mark and I chose to start a family.
Twelve years ago tomorrow, we chose to announce that decision.
By gathering 10 friends each, meeting in our favourite restaurant, exchanging wedding vows.
And introducing soon-to-be Lucy.
Today, Lucy and Bayla commemorated that day — and all the smiles and struggles since then — with a day of pampering.
They planned a menu. Ran grocery excursions. Cooked, baked, served and cleaned up afterwards. Leaving us free all day to do as we pleased.
The meal was delicious. The atmosphere, enchanting.
Lucky, lucky us.
Well, then, Tobias… follow those dreams. Make those dreams happen.
— Tobias Funke, Visiting Ours
Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the judgment that something is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all.
— The Princess Diaries?
In the first few years after it, Jay and I laughed that our 7650 kilometre coast-to-coast cycling slog had eliminated all chances of future adventure.
Once-thrilling ski and bike tours, tough as they were, left us unfulfilled.
Our bang bar was just too high.
Turns out cancer raised a bang bar of its own.
Mark lost his job Monday.
It blindsided us both.
But we’re all alive and healthy.
We’re concerned, curious and quite run down.
But this challenge, tough as it is, is well below the bar.